Kiss-A-nalysis

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Gnawing silence, electrified electrons

The sheepish look, drunken fingers

Then...then a kiss

                         For a prompt #64 Kiss; The Heights of Haiku Challenge;

                                                         Shared by

Belch Lingo

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That breath, in short gallops

A belch from overchewed garlic

Manifest the higher truth

                   For a prompt #63 Fluorish; The Height of Haiku Challenge;

                   Shared by

Illusions

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The proverbial dreamer

Recounting of nuclear power

Yet windmill is a reality!

                          For a prompt #61 Windmill; The Height of Haiku Challenge

Mirror on My Mind

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Mirror, Mirror, Mirror

On my mind

Which is the scariest of them all?

                                    For a prompt #60 Mirror; The Height of Haiku Challenge

My Accounting Lecturer, Stop Confusing Me!

Image credit: google: hypercup.org

You are learned in debits and credits

Increases and decreases, figures and values,

Balance brought forward and balance carried down

You have the knowledge of digits

You have mastered the T account

You have subdued the intricacies of profits and losses

I don’t begrudge that.

But I ask, is that the knowledge you carry around

Fiddling with figures most confusing

Touting concepts barely understandable?

Where is discovery for a patterned process?

It has always been the same:

Debit for increases

Credit for decreases

Double entry

Bad debts

Provision for bad debts

Income Statement

Balance Sheet

Trading Profit and Loss Account

Image from google: philtered.com

I itched to ask you in class

Why we couldn’t debit a decrease

Or questioned the wisdom in these rules

But of course you would have discounted me

Saying twas against GAAP or such big notions

As if GAAP was the keeper of logic

But again, I don’t blame you

You are a family man

Who has got to feed some mouths

And in any case, “that is the way it is”

So, I sit for hours, half-following added figures

Subtracted values, depreciated assets, missing debts

Unbalanced figures

All this while, my mind is cooking up

Dialogue between quarrelling figures

I think, that could be a nice poem

Figures on a verbal match

At least I could follow this

Because in my mind’s eye, I can see

Figure zero roll up in anger

Stirring up dust

Hardly the same story

For convoluted concepts of accounts

Where my accounts lecturer tells me

It is so because somebody thought so

They could be wrong!

Sir, I demand a special class

Where I will ask about double lines for balanced figures

Or question bank reconciliation and why mediators aren’t called

Or who came up with debits and credits?

(Speaking of which, could be some rhyme in bits and dits

So, could they have been poets after all?)

But no, they couldn’t be poets

Which imagery for arcane knowledge?

Which form for trite truncation?

They would at least let balance sheet be a sonnet

And let debit and credit be in a dialogue

Speaking of the wondrous nature of values

“To debit, I will sojourn”

No, the accountants weren’t poets

Else, they would weave figures into stories

At least for some of us, we would follow.

Hongera Wakenya*

Congratulations are in order for Kenya's athletes for scooping so many medals in the just concluded World Championships in Daegu 2011. As we say over here, "Najivunia kuwa Mkenya" ( I am proud to be a Kenyan).

Photo credit: KBC Website

I have always tried to imagine

what passes

inside an athlete's mind

400 metres

Before finishing line

Is it money?

Is it victory?

Is it the air rushing through their noses?

Is it the impending jubilation?

Photo credit: Mark Ralston/AFP/Getty Images

When Wimbo wa Taifa* is sang

Kenyan flag hoisted up

What passes in an athlete's mind?

Is it the crowning moment?

It is the world audience?

Is it the fortune?

Photo credit: Daily Nation website

What of a raised hand, then?

Is it a safe way to let passion currents

Escape through it

Else, such a joy suppressed would kill?

Photo credit: Random picture doing rounds in facebook




Finally, when he breaks into a dance
Oblivious to the world
Unconcerned to the free entertainment
Notwithstanding the athletic ribcage
What tickles him to dance?
Is it the delayed sprint motions?
Is it the gold medal?
Is it the embedded African rhythm?


Anyway
As you sprinted to victory
What passed through my mind
Was that I had that speed
I ran with you
I felt air rushing in
The adrenalin rose in me
Now we were neck and neck
And when you crossed the line
Ironically, I crossed with you
Not a micro-second before or after
Not my nose tip before or after
WE WON
BOTH OF US
As for how
Let IAAF worry about that
They could invent more rules

Lorot Son of the Hills Notes


Hongera Wakenya- Kiswahili for congratulations Kenyans.


Wimbo wa Taifa- Kiswahili for national anthem.

Tomorrow's Dreams

For a prompt of Sunday Scribblings #283 Tomorrow

Photo credit: google:  mp3boo.com

I am a child of tomorrow

I could be an astronaut, you know

Who knows what it holds?

In the meantime, let me dream

And rest my knees

Am on power-saving mode

When I get up tomorrow

I will be very very serious

I will look up my ten year plan

Well, that will be tomorrow

Nature's Terse Messages

For a prompt of Poets United's Thursday Think Tank #64- Sunflowers

Photo supplied by Poets United

I don’t know about you

methinks a sunflower

is

nature’s emoticon

J

Comment Feature Works

This blog underwent a cosmetic surgery to improve on her looks. After a couple of hours in the delicate process of nibs, tucks and whatnots, here's the new look  ECHOES OF THE HILLS. I love the new sound of the blog title "Echoes of the hills". You see, I have some attachment to the hills for a while now. Hardly surprising that I go by the codename "Lorot Son of the Hills".

One thing: Should you want to comment on any poem, please click on the title of the poem first then proceed to comment on it below. I hope that solves the problem I have received from my kind readers. Should the problem persist ( for which I don't anticipate), you could echo your concerns and my team of technicians working round the clock will most likely fix the problem.


Yours sincerely,

Each To a Portion of the Shine

Photo credit: google: travelblog.org

Mortal Man, I speak to thee:

Why should you drown your mind

In shallow puddles of defeat?

Why should you quake at the heights

Of success?

Why should your vision be clouded

By the dark clouds of pessimism?

I have seen soaring dreams nose-dive

By ten-pence fear hatched in doubtful minds

I have also seen humble men

Who couldn’t add 2 to 2

Scale up the heights

All because they stared down the sun.

So, carry on, mortal man

Keep the fire burning, keep the spirit going

If you have to rest, rest

But the spring of your feet should never relent

Re-ignite the spark, set ablaze your element

Kick it up, mortal man, do your thing

Let the grasses whisper your greatness

Let the hills echo your worth

Let the dust gather up

You are echo, reverberate.

Lorot Son of the Hills’ Notes:

For Thank God It’s Friday (TGIF) Poetry Slam of Nanyuki held every first Friday of every month. The second edition is today, 2^nd September 2011. The theme is 'DARE TO DREAM'.

Three Short Poems for Koko

Photo credit: google: mentalhealthnews.org

(This poem is a tribute to a great friend and "Koko", Sherry Blue Sky. As a young man, I learn a lot from her especially on the virtues of kindness, selflessness and creativity. Her nuggets of wisdom, her self-effacing nature, her humorous self all add to the beauty of this planet we live in. And, mimicking her, she would start, "Hey, kiddo..." May this poem bring joy to your heart)

**********

On Chasing After the Moon

Koko, or Koko(nut) (perhaps?)

We carry the planet in our hearts

Our treasure trove dwells in our blood

Pray, what are minted coins

Today present, absent tomorrow?

Of what use is wealth without convictions and principles?

What is a gold vault worth if hidden in a treacherous valley

Of rocky heart and darkened intentions?

So, Koko, if we be at the desert of want, the two of us,

Let our throbbing hearts pumping far-wrought dreams

Vide shared intentions

Be our oasis

Let us carry on, Koko,

Our sights at the stars,

Our vision to the wonders of the moon

What are tweedle little cosmetic illusions

Disguised as artificial neon lights, anyway?

                *********************

On Ocean’s Tides

We are such sands,

Spread across the oceans of the world

Each of us a grain, each of us a beach

******************

Argh

Argh.

Oh my head.

The poem ends here.

  

Living Rabbit Ways

Photo credit: google: astronomy-images.com

Like gleaming eyes of a rabbit

Caught by a stray light, we live

Our fur caressing the rough coat of destiny

Like the sprint of a frightened rabbit

Made lighter as if by Damocles Sword, we run

Our feet gliding through the future

Like a caged rabbit

Dutiful to the confines of ‘normalcy’, we are imprisoned

Shackled to the tempered airs of routine

Trivialinomics

Attending a conference, suffocated by a suit,

The drone goes on and on;

So, to stay awake, I draw an eagle on the chair

(Well, not exactly an eagle, you know)

As the tip of my pen finishes on its tail

I admire this eagle

So, I draw air into my lungs,

blow life into it

But my eagle disappoints.

For the next 30 minutes I whisper to my eagle,

"Sweet eagle, rise! rise please!"

But he doesn't (Such is the folly of being a creator)

Then I tear up the conference paper

And set out to create a plane

With my bare hands!

I whisper to it,

"My dreamliner, off we go, up, up"

Then I swish it away

Off it goes, up it goes

Lands on the nose of the Convenor

My dreamliner nosedives

And plunges into the Atlantic!

I am all tears.

"Oh, my dreamliner, this is so titanic!"

I remove my handkerchief

Blow off my nose.

Seated with a psychiatrist

I laugh inwardly.

That is my world.

My sane world.

In your world, your eagle can't be painted

Because the whir of your engines scare them.

Hardly surprising for your lot, the artistic lot.

I wrote this poem in the rain

For a prompt of Poetry Tow Truck # 35 Rain

Mid-day Sun. Ironically, a surprise rain

Which caught everyone off-guard

And what a sight!

Sheets of rain, blades of sun rays

Scents of wet earth

Upon which a curious soul retorted:

A hyena must be giving birth right now

Because only then does it rain in the sun

Making Sense

For a prompt of Mag pie Tales Mag 77

Outside the tavern, they haggled

Inside, drunken patrons’ din floated

Curiously, the breathe of drunken stupor

Retained a semblance of ratio decidendi

Mysterious Faces

For a prompt of Magpie Tales Mag 79

Photo supplied by Tess Kincaid of Magpie Tales

Of what belied of their gay faces

A sweeping glance couldn’t pick

More so, on a moving train

Yet, in those blithe countenances

Lay a mystery, a nagging knowledge

Unbeknownst  to a curious gaze

Because it diffuses

For a prompt by Poets United. The Thursday Think Tank #63- Something Stinks

“Kinsman,” he ventured,

“I smell of burning feathers doused in paraffin”

And as he said this, his wrinkled nose

Dilated, constricted, dilated again

“But,” he continued, “my nose hasn’t picked

A smell so vile as that of a liar’s;

His breath hits the pit of your stomach

Mixed with cheap honesty and adulterated

Knowy-snowy”

Upon which I said:

“You talk big, sir, speak from my level”

“Look at it this way:

The rancid smell of a lying tongue

Escapes the barricaded walls of a mouth

Why so?”

“I don’t know”

“Because it diffuses, my son, it diffuses

Bad smells have layers and levels

Like ethyl mercaptan, they stink to high heavens!

You smell pungent things everywhere in the city

From the broken sewer to festering wounds of

Beggars lying in the sun

In the evening, behind your closed doors

You will see the mouth of a politician open

Spitting tommyrot and carrion

For the next three hours you will spray air freshener

And see little or no result!”

L is for Land

 Prompt of Poets United The Thursday Think Tank #62 The Third Letter of Your First Name

My first name is Salem. The Third letter is L. L it is. Here we go


I noticed today that the letter L
Appeared in both my names
I couldn't think of a befitting word

Like Land
Where my umblical cord lays buried
Betwixt the graves of my forefathers
And the ancestral oron tree

For which they sat under
And shared tobacco
That tree still stands

Near it is a colonial slab
Where my kinsmen were jailed
The Chief and the D.O sit on it

On important occasions
Perhaps symbolically to belittle that past

OF THREADWORKS AND FABRICS

I chanced upon this writing on a Nissan’s rear:

USIANGALIE MSHONO, ANGALIA MATERIAL

DON’T LOOK AT THE THREADWORKS, LOOK AT THE FABRIC

Lorot Son of the Hills’ Notes:

I saw this on a Nissan Matatu in Mtwapa, Mombasa on 20^th August 2011.